When All The Mercs Were Gay
by PyroInBootyShorts
Summary: sniperxspy, engiexsoldier, pyroxdemo, medicxscout. I love TF2
1. Chapter 1

The pyro woke with a start. The room was dark, familiar walls covered in drawings. Most of them were pretty weird, involving fantasy fairylands, dragons and overly detailed sketches of flamethrowers. They struggled, sometimes, with being a-gender; it got lonely having no-one to talk to about how hard it was to always appear male in front of the team. But it was a kind of armour, too: before joining BLU, 'he' had been called 'her', singled out and abused. It created a barrier between then and now. And of course, looking like they did, no-one would ever find them attractive, not that Pyro minded. Most of the time.

Medic sighed, noting the Demo unconscious in the lounge surrounded by empty bottles, and made a mental note to inspect his liver next time he got blown up. He continued on his way to his office in the dawn light, the first to rise as usual, and started to prepare his various weapons.

A few hours later and the team assembled in preparation for the upcoming battle, at Upward. As they were standing in line, waiting for the round to start, Medic noticed Spy, to his left, glance meaningfully at Sniper before the doors opened. But he couldn't spare it another thought as he turned the Kritzkrieg on the heavy and ran out of the gate, laughing maniacally as the huge Russian's minigun took down several of the red team. Their scout sprinted past, skilfully taking down the enemy soldier with his scattergun. Medic watched his easy confidence as he outmanoeuvred the the soldier, twisting and turning in mid-air with a grace the Medic truly admired, renewing his appreciation for the biomechanics of the human body. Meanwhile, the heavy lumbered along next to the cart, the complete opposite of Scout – slow, never without Medic by his side, always taking damage from all sides. The medic was snapped out of his thoughts as an arrow pierced his left eye socket and lodged in his brain, the last thing he saw as he died was the RED sniper, waving at him as he blacked out.

The BLU engineer noticed the medic go down, and quickly built a dispenser in the hope that the team could use that until the medic respawned. The soldier immediately came and slumped against the wall as the dispenser slowly healed the mess a shotgun had made of his chest. Engie winced in sympathy, despite generally disliking soldiers; the RED one was always blowing up his sentries. Just as the soldier was leaving, the Engie heard the hiss of a sapper on his hard-earned level 3 sentry and spun around to face the spy. He swung his wrench, knocking off the sapper to protect his sentry, but cried out in pain as the spy's knife tore through the muscle of his upper arm. He backed up against the wall, protecting his back. He quickly grabbed his shotgun and blasted the spy in the stomach, killing him and sending his body flying backwards, and continued to repair his sentry. He heard the click of a balisong flicking open and realised that the spy had a deadringer, with not enough time before he'd get backstabbed. He waited for the familiar lights of respawn but instead heard a deafening detonation. A rocket had just exploded the spy, smoke clearing to reveal Soldier standing triumphantly in the doorway. 'Thanks partner', Engie muttered, grateful to have been saved the pain of a knife in his back. While he upgraded his dispenser he thought back to the night before. He'd been chatting with Soldier, his closest friend, when they had fallen into a companionable silence. Or could it have been more intense than that? Soldier's eye contact had implied it, but… Engie was probably imagining it. Soldier wasn't like that anyway.

Spy's classy French cologne and quiet, expensive footsteps warned Sniper of his presence. He pretended not to notice, however, because Spy liked that. The Australian smiled as the familiar gloved hands held the butterfly knife to his throat. Spy gracefully span him around, against the wall, and kissed him with the blade still resting just above his collarbone. Despite being the shorter of the pair, Spy had no trouble dominating the sniper, who pulled him closer by the waist. As soon as the Frenchman felt him melt against him, surrendering completely, he pulled back, and with a slyly seductive smile, cloaked and left, leaving Sniper in a trance, missing his next three shots entirely, and hoping that the rest of the team hadn't noticed about him and Spy yet.

As soon as the round ended, the Demoman took a deep swig from his bottle, impatient for the alcohol to kick in. Thanks to the medigun lowering his tolerance, it wouldn't be long. He needed to forget that he was here because his brother had joined the Army, and died in action. But it was so much more than just that, although the Scotsman would never tell anyone about his past. The demo had thought that throwing himself into the mercenary work would help dull the pain, but at the end of the day it just wasn't enough. He didn't want to go to the medic about it, it was too personal, but it certainly wasn't healthy that he couldn't pass out. He glanced up to see Pyro watching him, but through his mask no one ever knew what he was thinking. Assuming he was a he, anyway.

Pyro watched the demo lean, intoxicated, against the wall, conflicting emotions of sorrow, concern and disgust flaring up. Their mother had turned to drink, as she was so against their gender and there was never any money and their father had walked out and Pyro was generally just such a freak. It had left them with a deep loathing for the destruction alcohol can bring, but they also wanted to help the demo. His aloneness was too painful for them to see, and Pyro cared about the team, and Demo had always seemed friendly, and was the best at telling what the pyro was saying through their mask. But he wouldn't want them to be intrusive so Pyro went back to their room.

Back at the base, Medic was surprised to hear a knock on the door of his office. The heavy often visited, but he never knocked. It was Scout who burst in, knocking a pointless exercise. 'Doc', he yelled, 'my leg hurts. Like it was healed and everything, but it didn't really help, what's wrong doc?' The medic sighed, and when the scout was on the examination table said simply 'Prepare for your examination!' while snapping on his gloves, and rolled up the scout's trousers as far as possible. It was obviously his mid-thigh that was bothering him, so the medic started there. He guessed that there was a bullet lodged near the bone – the medigun couldn't get rid of bullets, not a problem if they went all the way through someone. But when they get stuck… It had happened quite a few times with the heavy especially, because of his bullet-stopping power. The medic's practised hands felt between Scout's muscles, around the outer edge of his quadriceps. When he found nothing, Medic moved around to his inner thigh. He soon felt a small shotgun pellet, quite deep. When he touched it he felt Scout's breath hitch and heard a small gasp of pain; Medic often got so absorbed in his patient's biology, he forgot that they were a conscious human. He decided he would only need a local anaesthetic to operate, and so prepared the syringe. Scout flinched slightly but said nothing as the medic explained the basics of the procedure. He expertly injected the numbing agent as he did so and waited for it to take effect. He kept talking to Scout as he used a scalpel to cut through his skin, sometimes to reassure Scout, sometimes biological terms only he understood, and often in German. He used his fingers to reach again behind the quadriceps and pull out the tiny piece of metal. With this done he could use the medigun to heal the wound, which also counteracted the anaesthetic. Scout jumped up and left with a muttered 'Thanks, doc'. Medic thought he might have been walking a little stiffly as he left, and wondered if he should check he hadn't missed any shrapnel tomorrow. He liked working with the scout – a dagger to Heavy's chainsaw – more beautiful, refined, yet just as deadly.

Scout was glad the long corridor was empty as he left the medic's office. He turned into the corridor with the bedrooms on it, happy for once that his was the first door. AS soon as the door closed behind him, he leant against it and let out a deep sigh. So he was really turned on right now. Ok, he'd just had his inner thigh felt up and it got pretty lonely at night in the base, but really? He'd liked the way the medic's hands felt, so confident and unyielding. And a German accent can sound kinda hot… Wait, Scout, finding the medic hot? He tried to think back to their previous encounters, trying to find any emotion that would make sense of this. He only succeeded in blushing over the medic's delicately blue eyes, his fierce jawline, his hands, holding Scout on the table… Scout was ok with being gay, or bi or whatever he was, but would everyone else be? And to make matters worse, there was a routine medical check-up on Wednesday afternoon. He sighed again, trying not to think about it.

Pyro noticed that Demo had been unusually quiet, and particularly sober that evening. While the rest of the team chatted, or in the case of the soldier discussed battle plans with Engie, he had stared into a half-empty bottle, rarely drinking. So after he returned early to his room, Pyro couldn't help but follow out of concern. However, after no more than a minute had passed, he left and started down the corridor. Pyro quickly slipped into their own room as he passed, and then decided to follow him. He ended up leaving the base and walking for about ten minutes before Pyro began to worry. It seemed like he was set on heading out of respawn, and they couldn't just follow without saying anything. So they took a breath, and softly called out. Demo immediately span around, panicking, but relaxed slightly when he saw Pyro. He warily asked, 'What are you doin here? Why did you follow me?' Pyro replied 'I oh oohr ad, an I ant oo oo ee okay. An I ant oo alk oo oo, ithoot my ask.' 'You care about me? But why would you take off your mask now, when you haven't for so long?' Pyro took a deep breath, and took of their mask. 'Because I'm tired of being alone, watching you suffer.' Demo held back a gasp as he finally saw the pyro's face. He took in short, dark red hair and brilliantly green eyes. He looked… well, not very masculine. To the point where Demo wouldn't be surprised if he was a girl. 'I'm gender non-binary', Pyro explained, 'which means that although I'm physically female I actually identify as neither male nor female, hence looking the way I do. And I like to be called they rather than he or she.' Pyro's voice was a beautiful mixture of French and Italian, with maybe a subtle lilt from somewhere else, with a more feminine softness but deep and powerful.


	2. Chapter 2

Sniper, Spy, Heavy and Soldier were all in the main lounge in the base when Sniper deliberately caught Spy's eye. The Frenchman slipped out of the room, saying that he was going to be in his Smoking Room. Sniper took the hint and, to avoid suspicion, waited an agonising five minutes before muttering an excuse about needing to check his van before hurrying after the spy. As soon as the smoking room's door had closed behind him, Spy was suddenly behind him, genuinely surprising the bushman, whose pulse quickly accelerated from the spike of adrenaline. The knife's familiar blade was expertly poised at the base of his throat, heightening his senses as Spy expertly manoeuvred the Australian up against the desk. Only when he had him leaning right back on his elbows across the polished oak desk did the spy finally move in for a kiss. Sniper bit back a moan as the spy's expert hand slid under his shirt to rest at the edge of his ribcage, holding him down. The knife was held just below his jawline, exhilaratingly close to his pulse. Sniper wasn't sure exactly how, but suddenly they were both shirtless, but of course Spy's mask was still on. It contrasted sharply with the smoothly muscled torso beneath, and Sniper wondered what would happen if he tried to take it off. He decided to find out. The moment his fingers began to reach under the fabric, Spy pulled back, somehow immediately pressing the knife into the hollow under his collarbone. 'Ah, so I see you cannot be trusted to be'ave', Spy murmered, 'I sink I 'ave just ze sing for zat'. Sniper's breath hitches in anticipation as Spy produces a long strip of cloth from somewhere and, standing behind the Australian, ties his hands to the far side of the desk. He pauses to appreciate the way the sniper's lean body looks against the uncompromising wood, fine muscles accented by the dim lighting and the edge of his ribs rising and falling satisfyingly fast. The sniper's low-waisted pants allowed the Fenchman a glimpse of his hipbones. As he moved back around to straddle Sniper's legs he held one and let his thumb slip just below the waistband as he moved back in.

The scout was more nervous than ever as he waited his turn for the medical examinations. As the mercs had decided that the classes shouldn't always go in their normal order (basically because Spy said he had better things to do than wait around), their order would be reversed. So Scout was last. Eventually it was only him and Soldier left, and by the time Scout was called in he was really worried. He felt weirded out that the medic – who he kind of really liked – was about to give him a characteristically_ thorough _examination. Wasn't it creepy? That Medic wouldn't even know how he felt? But it was too late now to do anything but go in and take his place on the examination table.

Medic started with his usual questions about general health, checked Scout's eyes and ears, and his reflexes (at which he seemed pretty impressed, to Scout's satisfaction). But then he checked over the place where the bullet had got stuck in Scout's thigh. He tensed as the medic's practiced hand ran up his inner thigh, from his knee almost as far as the edge of his boxers, feeling deep between the muscles. Medic held the scout's knee with his left hand to keep it completely steady as he worked. The scout's body was an incredible thing – the muscles and tendons, so tangible beneath his fingers, could move with such inexplicable speed and precision. The doctor snapped out of his train of thought to find that he had spent longer than medically necessary on this. He looked up and, as he was taking his hand away, locked eyes with the scout. And Medic knew, right then, that Scout wanted him, wanted the touch of his hands. Medic was in turmoil at this realisation and finished the examination as quickly as he could, his hands dangerously close to shaking. When Scout had left, Medic slumped into his chair behind the desk. It wasn't Scout's gender that bothered him, but… He had been in love with Heavy. He'd found him mesmerising, his easy confidence, the way he was kind and sure of himself. But he had been thoughtless, and ended up hurting Medic more than he would ever know. But could he move on now, at last? Did he really feel that way for Scout? It certainly wasn't impossible, but he'd have to think about it. Mostly about whether he should attempt a relationship at all, after what the last one did to him. And anyway, who would want to date someone who could hate themselves as much as he did? The one thing Medic was sure of was that he wouldn't sleep well tonight… and he was right. He woke with a start, from a dream in which Heavy had been kissing him. And he had kissed back. It had felt so wrong but he hadn't even been able to place why until he was sitting bolt upright in bed, shaking all over.

A few days later, the entire team was crammed into the lounge. Engie ended up crushed between the Sniper's bony form and the Soldier. His thickly muscled shoulder was just above the shorter man's, his triceps against Engie's chest as Scout levered himself onto the sofa next to the heavy. Medic stood in the far corner with Pyro, worriedly staring at the floor and obviously feeling uncomfortable. But the engie was a little distracted by the soldier's thigh, now amost on top of his own. He was painfully aware of the other man's body, feeling guilty that he no longer saw him as only a friend.

The soldier tried not to focus on the engineer's body pressed up against his side, but it was impossible to ignore. He also noticed how quiet the Texan was, despite the jovial mood in the room. He tried not to worry, but years of fighting have taught him when a battle's lost. He really cared about him, maybe even more than he should about a normal friend. Whenever their eyes met, he found himself searching for the answers in the engie's goggles, but of course they gave nothing away. But he was straight, wasn't he? They both were. Soldier couldn't fall for another man, could he?

Pyro met the demoman in the same place that they had met before. He had slunk off when everyone else was still relaxing in the lounge, and they had thought that he's come here. He was nursing a bottle, as usual, but he wasn't very drunk. They ended up talking until it started to get dark, not about anything too meaningful. It felt good not to have to wear a mask for once, and not have to constantly watch their every mannerism and tone of voice to maintain the illusion of being entirely male. Demo seemed to be relaxing more and more, letting his usual shield of drunkenness slip away. He was obviously struggling with his past, but underneath that he was kind and genuinely seemed to care about Pyro, like no one else ever had. He even began to make them laugh, occasionally, and when they eventually returned to the base they were both in a lighter mood than when they left. He was the only person who could simply make them feel happy.


End file.
